Still

i saw her there one morning.

she leaned against the window,
elbows propped on the sill,
breath clouding the glass,
absent gray eyes searching.

what she was searching for
i didn’t know.

the house was quiet, but her mind was not.
inside there were a thousand questions.
i could almost see them swirling in her head,
pounding at her skull,
infecting her mind,
demanding for answers.

answers to what
i didn’t know,

but probably a thousand different things.

suddenly her hand snuck to the glass,
to a fogged circle,
created by her breath,
where her finger made contact
and then swirls were drawn there,
a maze of shaped lines,
a smile.

until she erased it and there was only glass.

i promptly saw her that afternoon.

she was in a window-seat, i think,
her knees pulled to her chest,
her head titled slightly to the side,
and there i saw her breath gathered upon the glass again.

not just her breath but steam from a mug;
the coffee swirled as her finger had in the fog the day before,
but these are only little things she noticed in her churning mind.

i look again now and see her reflection staring back.
questions are still pounding but they dissipate when i close my eyes,
for i am a daughter of the King of kings and i give him my doubt.

he gives me peace in exchange.

in the glass i see a reflection of the girl i’ve always known,
the girl i am.
the girl who thinks too much.
the girl who’s learning to be still.

Lord, i want to be

still.

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Author: Misty

dreamer. wordcrafter. child of the King.

7 thoughts on “Still”

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